


Pathetic

by Coalmine301



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-wan's not having a good time here my friends, Post-Rattatak, Self Loathing, post-Jabiim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coalmine301/pseuds/Coalmine301
Summary: When Obi-wan stared into the mirror it wasn’t his face that stared back. Because that couldn’t be him. There was no way he could be that corpse looking back with dull, dead eyes.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841479
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151





	Pathetic

**Author's Note:**

> So I've decided to try my hand at Bad Things Happen Bingo. And so what better prompt to start with than "Tearful Smile"?  
> Strap in, my friends, this is gonna be a "fun" ride.
> 
> In case you're curious my card is here: (I'll put in the link when I stop being such a lazy little pinhead)

When Obi-wan stared into the mirror it wasn’t his face that stared back. Because that couldn’t be him. There was no way he could be that corpse looking back with dull, dead eyes. 

Dark circles surrounded the stranger’s sunken grey eyes like the cavities in a skull. Both the man’s hair and beard were overgrown and unkept, framing his face in long ginger strands. Said strands were stained with the harsh browns of rotten blood and dirt.  
Surely he didn’t look so terrible. He couldn't. Right? 

There was a small speck of white in the beard. Maybe it was a lint fuzzy. Maybe it was a leftover piece of a maggot…

Muscle maggots. Just the mere reminder of them had Obi-wan resisting the violent urge to vomit. They had gone down alive, wiggling and moving and… and gnawing. On his flesh. On him. 

And hadn’t the others had such a reaction when they learned that tiny little detail. Che’s stunned expression would have been amusing had it been from any other situation. Bant’s and Lumianra’s were less so, their faces crinkling with empathy. Quinlan had let out a ferocious curse and punched a wall with all his might- Obi-wan wouldn’t have been surprised if the dent was still there.

But the reaction that commanded the most of Obi-wan’s attention was Anakin’s, his apprentice’s. The boy was known for his temper and Obi-wan almost expected him to behave like Vos had. He didn’t think he could have blamed him if he did.

Except Anakin didn’t. He had suddenly gotten very quiet, hands clenched into fists on his knees. A fiery tempest blazed in his eyes, threatening to destroy anything and everything in its ravenous wake. But other than that he was still, silent. 

This was personal for him. Ventress had been the one to score the angry red scar by his eye. And so soon after Geonosis when her master Dooku chopped off the teen’s hand.

Both times Obi-wan had failed to protect him. His apprentice, his best friend, his brother. He was supposed to protect Anakin, to keep him safe from harm. And yet he failed miserably both times. 

Just as he had failed to protect himself. And before Obi-wan knew it he was back there. All he could do was lay in Jabiim’s mud and struggle to breathe as whatever was left of the AT-AT smoldered around him. Surrounded by the bodies of those he failed to save. That’s how Ventress had found him. Weak. Vulnerable. Defenseless. 

He was shaking now, hands desperately clutching the vanity with white knuckles in an effort to keep him upright. 

Why was he like this? He was a Jedi Master for Force’s sake! He was kriffing Obi-wan Kenobi, respected member of the Jedi High Council, Commander of the 212th battalion, High General of the Grand Army of the Republic. So why was he shaking in fear like a youngling after a nightmare? He should be stronger than this for frip’s sake. 

Yet he just couldn’t. He couldn’t pull himself together. 

And if that just wasn’t enough a tear slid down his cheek. And then another. And another. And another. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t quell the waterworks. 

Obi-wan barely bit back to urge to laugh at that. Oh now he truly was pathetic, wasn’t he? Here was the great and mighty Negotiator shaking like a maraca and crying in the middle of his ‘freshener. If only the people could see him now. 

He was probably broadcasting his despair along the training bond, which meant Anakin could feel him. Could see just how weak and pathetic his master really was. Ah, kriff.

Obi-wan furiously scrubbed at his eyes in a desperate effort to stem the flow. He had come in here for a reason after all.

Warily, Obi-wan returned his eyes to his reflection in the ‘freshener mirror. If possible he now looked even worse with the reddened eyes and twin streaks down each side of his face. 

After a few moments of fumbling he found his beard trimmer. It took quite a bit of brushing to work out several month’s worth of knots caught up in the auburn hair before he could even begin trimming. 

His hands shook but with some assistance from the Force he managed to steady them enough for this task. Slowly, ever so slowly, he managed to straighten out his once so prized beard. With each snip of the tool more and more of the hated reddish hairs fell into the awaiting bowl of the sink. 

At last Obi-wan finished his task and his face looked just a little bit more like his own again.

Not enough. Somewhere under that matted tooka’s nest, underneath all that dirt and grime, was his face. His face from before. Before everything went to kark. Surely there was even a slimmer of hope things could go back to the way they were. Before Jabiim. 

His hair was so matted and tangled that he skipped the brush and went straight for the scissors. He had taken one look and knew that there would be no saving it.

Once Obi-wan had been planning on growing out his hair nice and long. Like Qui-gon’s. Ever since he was young he had been envious of his master’s glorious, flowing locks. And maybe it would have been a way to remember him better.

Not any more.

At that thought the tears started up again. Though, mercifully, not quite as thick as they were earlier. Silently water spilled from his eyes as he worked, barely able to look into the mirror. For if he did then surely he’d see the corpse’s tear streaked face staring accusingly back at him. And he just couldn’t handle that right now.

At last he was done, setting the shears back on the vanity with trembling fingers. Hesitantly he stole a glance at his reflection. 

He looked terrible, weary and worn and oh so tired, but at least he was looking more like himself now. He could actually see his own face without the filthy and matted hair hiding it away.

“Master?”  
The voice made him jump and spin around, coming face to face with Anakin. Once they had been so close one didn’t need the Force to tell when the other approached. Rattatak had changed that. After being apart for so long, each one believing the other was dead, it had changed, dulled. 

His padawan’s eyes wandered over the redhead’s appearance and Obi-wan almost cringed. He must have been a rather sorry sight with sunken eyes and tearstained cheeks. Not to mention the rest of his pathetic appearance. 

Obi-wan had never been a tall man though he did develop a nice amount of muscle from his life as a Jedi. Rattatak had stripped that all away as he slowly starved in that bloodstained cell. The aforementioned muscle maggots hadn’t exactly done a lot to help out. Now he was a hollow skeleton of what he had once been, so frail and weak he could scarcely move once he managed to escape. It was the Force alone that had kept him putting one foot in front of the other. 

Anakin’s face softened with sympathy and Obi-wan fought the urge to look away. He should be stronger than this. He should be comforting Anakin after what he’d gone through rather than crying at his sink like an over emotional youngling.

“Needed a change, huh?” Anakin asked gently, a knowing tone in his voice. 

Obi-wan didn’t trust himself to speak and so just nodded. 

Suddenly the blonde’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. “So you’ve finally gotten rid of that ugly mullet of yours?”

Despite everything Obi-wan found himself chuckling. “Oh it was hideous,” he agreed.

It was stupid joke, not even really funny, but soon they were both laughing. Neither had any explanation for it, they just laughed. Perhaps because they had gone so long without laughing that it all tumbled out at once. 

Before he knew it obi-wan felt something wet trailing down his cheek once more. Oh this was rather embarrassing, especially since this was the third time today. 

And right in front of his padawan no less. Of course it was too much to hope for Anakin not to notice, especially when obi-wan’s chuckles turned to sobs. Yeah, it was official. He officially had no dignity left over.  
“I'm sorry,” he croaked, desperately scrubbing at his eyes. “Sorry, I thought- oh dear, I-”

Whatever he was going to say was quickly cut off by Anakin suddenly wrapping him in a fierce gundark hug. Instinctively Obi-wan tensed in his padawan’s grasp, though he found himself relaxing into it.

“It’s ok, Master,” Anakin insisted, tears of his own streaming down his cheeks. “It’s going to be ok.”


End file.
